


To Those Left Behind

by LadySmith



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Affairs, Angst, Compilation, Desire, Drabbles, Freeform, M/M, Multi, Obsession, Random Encounters, Time Loop, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmith/pseuds/LadySmith
Summary: This is a gallery of unfinished words. Late night muses that left too soon. When I get an idea I begin to write and sometimes I am left with brief dialogues and happenings that are left in a folder to be reopened much later after the inspiration has unfortunately, escaped me. Here they are. Link/Male Sheik. Shink.





	1. Chapter 1

The world felt cold.

Little whispers of hidden breaths retraced themselves upon his skin.

You're never quite prepared to let go. You never quite believe yourself when you ponder the possibility of it. When everything seems right, the future is far, far, beyond the realms of reality. 

He wants to grasp at the body he sees walking the hallways. Wants to shout out to deaf ears to the ones that listened so intently not long ago. How someone you knew so closely, so intimately, could seem so that as of such a stranger is like death to him. It is beyond his comprehension.

The torment subsits day after day. Oh, the longing. Look at me, you fool. Look at me, and remember.

Such silly longings. And yet, they persist.

It is not the same in a bed he shares with an insignificant other in the darkness. This attempt to blur all vision and regress into memories proves unfulfilling. Short lived. Painful. Once the name "Link" slips past his lips the other gets up in a tirade. He supposes the Hero transcends even his emotions and possibly incapacitates those who feel lesser than.

But they should. He shrugs it off.


	2. Chapter 2

He was not a good person.

  
Even though Zelda had peered into his soul and told him otherwise.

  
He was not a sane person.

  
Even though Zelda had peered into his soul and told him he was.

  
She had told him, "that fact that you are a wounded soul makes you good."

  
And he only blinked softly, gazed back at her, impassive.  
"You may have me. There is no need for convincing," he had said.

  
And it was done.

  
He knew it didn't matter what kind of person he was, really. Just a vessel that would listen and obey her commands.

  
Link knew about the Sheikah. In fact, his first impression of the one in question left him intruigued, of course, and why shouldn't he be? He'd had it figured out quite early on, but he decided to play along. Quite smart of Zelda to disguise herself like that, and she made a sexy boy.

  
The irritation was palpable, the way Link would regard Sheik with a slight sense of smugness. This peculiar expression that he knew something Sheik did not. He wanted to call the hero a smart ass but instead came a polite, "what is on your mind?" and hoped his eyes didn't give away the thin line of bitterness his lips had formed into underneath his cowl.

  
"I just.. is this really necessary, Sheik?" Link had shrugged.

  
"What is it that you think you know?"

  
Link sighed.

  
What was it about this world and the next? How tangible these thoughts might seem that are as fleeting as daybreak. He could never quite figure out which one it was, that made him feel this way. Only the memories persisted. Day after day he thought and thought, remembering those moments since passed and the opportunities that had escaped him. So many things he could have changed, could have done. And worry not she had told him, for you would have your chance again.

  
The chance came in many different strokes like a painting that eclipsed different lifetimes and dimensions. He'd wake up in one and die in another, and the solution he was looking for, that riddle which eluded him had been wiped from his life entirely. No matter how many times he relived it.

  
Where was the sunshine that had so explicitly left? It was all he had to hold onto. Even She said, "find him," and he hoped she wasn't leading him on and on without any resolution. He had suffered enough with her during the days of the hero and the war.

  
Beautiful things he had said. The feelings like ghostly sensations creeping up his arms and down his neck. Whispers of days since passed. Whispers of a man long gone. Holding onto him like a figure made entirely of smoke - there but not, visible but never able to be caught. Like so many things in his life, this one hurt the most. Out of all the things he'd lost, this one hurt the most.

  
It was the final time in a land surprisingly new that he had touched the relic (golden and enshrined in a holy place only known to those who follow it) and remembered again what had come before and the torment had lasted just long enough for him to bear. It had entered his body like wisps of soul fragments and he was certain he had aged lifetimes in that moment, but had not.

  
Such was the burden of knowledge. Its weight, undetectable.

  
He had walked from the forgotten ruins and again into the city, and now, for the first time, he could compare it to all the other lives he had lived before. Sprawled up a mountainside that once was, the town etched its way - so many staircases led up and up, homes and other buildings carved into the rocks. If he were to look either up or down the mountain itself, well, it would be more of the same. The city began at the earth and crawled up past the clouds.

  
There was a significant lack of color.

  
It reminded him of the Twilight Era, although he was sure it was not. It certainly was another lifetime, again. And again he had said aloud with a dark sarcasm no one could possibly comprehend.

  
And here it was that he knelt again to Her in the suffocatingly decadent throne room, and he tried so very very hard to like her.

  
And as he knelt to Her he glanced to Him, and his heart broke again a thousand times. It was like having a string tied to the beating organ, and having it pulled ever so often lest you forget. It was like falling from great heights but being saved only to be dropped again. It was a fear brewed of nausea, self worthlesness, and addiction. But it was wonderful. And he went for it again, and again, and again. Because he had felt the payoff before. And winning it, although temporary, had been the most wonderful feeling he had ever felt.

* * *

  
It had begun very casually at first. And please believe the intentions were good.

  
"Hello, how are you?" and an "I am well, thank you."

  
But oh, the conversations kept going. When one would tire of trying to press responses from the Sheikah, He did not. He was mostly the same this time, relentlessly charming, annoyingly handsome. Link was unaware of his natural humor, would get a glisten in his eye and a small smile when presented with a laugh or giggle. Was tirelessly kind.

  
Sheik hated him.

  
Or at least, that's what he told himself.

  
At first.  
  
At first, he was like, 'what did I ever see in him?!'

  
Sheik had patted himself on the back. We're off to a good start.

  
But slowly, like an infection, that stupid tingling feeling had begun to creep up his body again - and sorry to say this, but even Sheikah as "experienced" as Sheik himself was not immune to the fresh, glistening dewdrop beginnings of infatuation.

  
Link was a wonderful ruler. A great King. A fantastic husband to Her.

  
But put that in the back of your mind.

  
Useless information.

Although accurate.

It was yet again another curveball thrown in the many paths he had walked, and although he had respected destiny in his countless past iterations, this time he chose to let it slip from his conscience. 


	3. Chapter 3

On an insignificant day light came pooling into my vision.

It was no different than yesterday nor the ones that had come before it, except for the fact that I had been brought into this world.

It was not a grand day, no spectacular occasion. The Goddesses did not descend from the heavens and bestow their powers onto me, the sky did not split into two when I had taken my first breath.

No, it was in a dim room, small and furnished with inexpensive things, things one would hardly care about and most likely would not miss if they were gone. Not that I remember this room exactly as it was, it is more like I have filled in the gaps, as it were.

I will be doing this a lot.

Just another sand child the elders would have to feed. And I say this not because I wish for your pity, I say this because it is true. Too many people in a village that was already having difficulty maintaining itself. That is why they sent us out as soon as possible, and if no one would have us, well.. let's just say your fate would be less than desirable.


	4. Time III / 8-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have read my past works, this chapter might be a little exciting. Here's the next chapter for Time - Part III. Still unfinished and rough. Hopefully I can pick this up again someday.

We exited the forest with the same amount of enthusiasm that we entered with. It is exciting to discover these locales, these memories, but I dare say it is just as exciting to leave them. They are pointing us to a resolution. We can feel it somewhere in the distance.

I know we are both beginning to feel the reality of the situation breathing upon our necks as well, slight tingles of apprehension apparent as we follow these clues to an unknown end.

It is somewhere just outside Kokiri Village, on its outskirts in Hyrule Field's expanse that we decide to sit. We do so because my genuinely curious question to Six that went something like, "where to next?" caused him to pause for a moment.

"We need to go over what we've learned," he begins, "to know where to go next."

He has kept a cautious watch over me since the Sacred Meadow. I had come out from the last memory like a wreck and he had fretted over my tears and has never forgotten the problems with my heart that I had told him about (which I'm fine now, I reminded him) but has since relaxed yet I can still feel his thoughtful gaze on me at all times.

I admit I watch him too.

There are little things I notice, familiar things.

He was familiar to me the moment we met. Can't explain why. Just a feeling.

I also sense a slight change in him. His energy slightly dampened like a deflated balloon. I've asked him if he's okay but he puts that smile on like always and says he's fine. I wonder if something happened to him in the meadow. Something uniquely his own experience just as I had had my own.

I pull a pen from my pack and hand it to him. He grabs the map from his own and a spiraled notebook and we sit facing each other in the grass. The breeze is light. It dances through his hair, brushes the longer pieces across his forehead as he focuses down to writing some bullet points at which after he looks up to me, and I look away. I hate being caught staring.

"It's a beautiful day," he says and he tricks me into looking at him again, I'm sure of it, because I do and there's that dimple again, in his cheek as he smiles.

"It's alright," I say and shrug and he laughs at my ability to be a downer in any given situation.

"The memories are out of order," I continue after a moment of thought. "I don't know if it's because we are visiting the stones in the wrong sequence or if they are meant to be seen this way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well.." I point to Kakariko on the map, to the graveyard, "the memory here was definitely older. It was an intimate moment between the two and-" (and I catch Six's eyes open a bit wider and his brows raise as I say this) "-and Sheik's arms and hands were free of this 'twilight' they talked about in the last memory from the meadow."

"An intimate moment-"

"SO I'm thinking this is something that happened quickly and that Sheik probably hid it from Link even once it started developing."

"The memory from the meadow, what did you learn?" 

"Sheik had contacted Zelda. She didn't get back to him. Link was convinced they needed the ocarina to rewind time. Sheik didn't seem as convinced."

"That's probably when that letter was written, the one Link wrote to the princess asking to have it back."

"Could be. They talked about the twilight, how it had chosen Sheik and wouldn't let go. Almost as if it had turned on him? I dunno."

"And that's where it ended?"

"Link mentioned going to a 'distant place'. That maybe the twilight had ties to Hyrule and that leaving could sever them."  
Six laughs.

"What's funny?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's just a ridiculously romantic thought."

"Ridiculously romantic?"

He changes the subject. "I think it's more likely they went in search of the ocarina. It would have been the quickest way and it doesn't seem like Sheik had a lot of time."

"But how would they have known where the ocarina was?"

"Zelda had it."

"How do you know that?"

"Because-" he sighs, searches for words. He has a secret there, I sense it. "It's in the history books. Link and Zelda meet after Ganon's demise, he returns the ocarina to her."

"So why wouldn't she just give it back to him?"

"Jealousy?"

"...What?" I scoff a bit but sincerely don't mean to be rude. It just sounds ludicrous.

"Embarrassment? Crushed ego? Disappointment?" he continues, suggestions rolling off his tongue.

"I'm confused. That sounds pretty petty."

"Even princess' are capable of misguided feelings and emotions," he shrugs.

"That's really what you think? That she hid the ocarina from them because she was jealous. Why?"

He takes a deep breath. He certainly is hiding something from me. "Maybe she wasn't happy with how things had turned out. For her."

"I don't know.. I find that hard to believe.."

"Yeah, I'm probably way off base. Forget it," Six says with a wave of his hand as dismissal and an odd expression on his features.

* * *

  
We come up with a plan, one really no different than what we had started out with. We set our sights on the lake, decide to stay to the south and wind our way around, continuing clockwise on our journey.

It was my idea, to go to the lake. Lake Hylia. For some masochistic reason I hope my parents still live there yet I am fearful that they do. But this notion appeals to me because so far, this adventure with Six has turned out to be so much more than just a visit to Kakariko Village. And I am braver with Six by my side. If I were to rid myself of things that haunt me, have closure, I would want to do it with him because I'm not sure if I could by myself.

I am beginning to forget I have a home at the Academy. Is that weird?


	5. Dalliance

The crossroads went in three directions.

North, west, and south.

To the east was a flowing river, substaintially large and beside it a large scape of mountains. You could cross them, of course, but it wasn't worthwhile really. Nothing there but wilderness.

To the north was the castle. He would visit there often. After a month or so traveling and trading the town there at the base of it would yield enough rupees to live off of for a while. Which was good, of course. Have to make a living somehow.

South was where he'd come from. But that had been years ago. The tiny village, the dwindling numbers of its occupants. They had set him off with a large satchel and wished him good luck, told him he'd be better off as a traveling merchant than as a slave to the royal family.

And oh he was especially skilled at it. Not the selling of goods bit - making eye contact was something he had been learning to like - but the actual accrual of goods.. yes, that was the fun part.

Monster claws, magic rings, stones of significant rarity. Treasures from far off dungeons, treasures from corpses that had met their unfortunate fate somewhere off the beaten path. He never killed anyone for their worth or would ever stoop so low as to pickpocket or steal. No, these treasures he earned. And he asked a lot for them.

For instance, earlier this morning he had traveled down the river bed to a nice little cave in the mountainside. The beasts inside were nothing to be laughed at. Earned a few nice cuts on his arms and chest. Went straight through his armor. Not surprising though, really. He never dressed to tank monsters like a Hylian Knight, rather to slip in, unseen, stab them from behind. Clean and quick.

The treasure was worth it though! Blue Flame. Crackled from an unknown source deep in its twisted caverns and he had bottled some up and high-tailed it out of there. 

It had started out innocently enough.

In a little cottage nestled in a clearing just past the crossroad's marker to the west, there lived a devilishly handsome fellow. Baby blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, tossled light hair. He was like the epitome of a picturesque Hylian. He'd seen the traveling merchant on the road nearby and smiled, jogged over, light perspiration on his forehead from working outside all day.

"Sheikah," he had said.

  
And the traveling merchant had halted and simply regarded him with a nod.

The Hylian had asked to see his wares and after perusing them was quite impressed, "How do you manage to find such rarities?" he had inquired and the Sheikah only raised his brows with a hint of a hidden smile.

And so the little fetch quest had begun, and the Hylian (somehow so well-versed and studied in the strangest of items in existence) had something new he wanted each week and he paid generously for it in return.

Each time he'd make it a little closer to the cottage. The Hylian would always meet him halfway.

"How are you? Are you hungry?" he'd ask the Sheikah, and the other would always shake his head in response and the Hylian would place the rupees in his hand and in his own the Sheikah would give him his request. It was so very simple. He never had to say a word.

"Thank you, my friend. I'd been wanting this for quite some time," the Hylian would say, and he peered into the other's hair waiting for that eye contact and the Sheikah could feel it burning, burning, but he would not comply.

"Good day," was all the traveling merchant would say as he turned around and continued on the roads, anxiously, always anxiously after settling payment with that Hylian from the cottage.

It had been one night, rainy and cold. The oil lamps were lit in the windows and the smell of soup wafted out, smoke in the chimney rising up, up to the darkened sky. He halted there on the crossroads, deliberated.

His light footsteps quietly sloshed through the grass and up to the cobbled and dirt worn pathway, and he hesitated with his fist against the door and for a moment thought about leaving.

He thought about sleeping indoors, something he had not had the luxury of doing in some time, being on the roads and all. He thought about warm food, which wasn't always a necessity and he liked any food, hot or cold, just as fine, really but..

It just sounded nice.

And he knew no one else, and the castle town was so far..

Knock. Knock.

His knuckles rapt the wooden door.

And the Hylian answered.


	6. Chapter 6

The sunset was beautiful, rays of golden orange and purple blue.

  
The air, although slightly chilly, was fresh and crisp and its tendrils of breeze danced about the leaves on the trees and grasses below. Its scent, like dandelions, wild flowers, earth. The night had begun to unfold beyond the valley to the west; glowing orbs, the stars above beginning their twinkling watch over the darkening field that seemed to stretch to a misty horizon.

A campfire crackled and sought a life anew, and beside it the watcher who would tend its flames until the morning sun came again. He sat, hooded and still, but ever observant. The flickers of heat grew and grew until he was satisfied, at which he stood, looking out upon the limitless night.

He leaned over the precipice - the jagged reddish rock that cut sharply and down - a hidden outcropping high up on the mountain's edge. The paths below were still. 

The few sturdy tents that dotted the landscape could be seen well from this vantage point, and he watched another fire light up, and then another. Synchronized were the flames, tended to and loved - the only warmth the dozen or so could cling to in the bitter dark that would come every night.

He wondered if the skeletons would be back.

How many more would die?

He brought the blade from behind his back and tested its edge, slick and sturdy. Shining was its reflective surface, and he gazed into it and the eyes that looked back were bright. At this he laughed softly to himself, for even though his body was tired and the outlook bleak, his eyes glimmered in hope, ever wishing.

It would be a long time till morning, and another long night without much sleep. He rotated his tired shoulders and reached to his quiver, feeling reassurance in the arrows placed there, reminding him that he was not alone high up on this rocky crevice. His bow rested beside a boulder nearby - hopefully he wouldn't have to use it tonight.

The stars above radiated and he looked to them, thanked them for many things. For giving light, for being there - the only constant he has known thus far. The smoke from the campfires rose to the sky in swirling grey. It was the only smoke he could see tonight. Across and over the many tree tops it was still, only the leaves rustled in the inconsistent breeze. He heard no howls, no running on the wet earth.

The silence unnerved him.

An owl's silhouette appeared then across the light of the moon, flapping its wings in large motions. It was coming toward him. He watched patiently, until it came close enough to pick him up with its beak for dinner. He only looked up as it flew overhead, and brought out his left forearm. It landed and stared at him, eyes wide.

"All clear?" he asked.

The owl blinked twice and flew off, up and over the mountain's edge to the east. He watched it go, and he was alone again. At least there wouldn't be any fighting tonight.

* * *

  
The princess of the caravan thought about sleep, but rarely did it take her.

Each time she would try and nod off, any sound at all would startle her relaxing mind. The snap of a branch, the chirp of a bug. And even if she were able to shut her eyes for a moment, she would fear she'd reopen them and come face to face with a Wolfos or some twisted monster made entirely of bones.

The darkened circles under her eyes were persistent. They'd all say, 'you look beautiful dear', but she knew otherwise.

The lantern she had going had went out on its own, so she felt around for the blankets and laid underneath them, bringing them up as far as they would go before they didn't reach her feet any longer.

"100.. 99.. 98.."

_snap_

".. 97.. 96.. 95.."

 _crack_. The fire.

"94.. 93.. 92.."

and this continued until 1, which at that point hopefully she had fallen asleep or if not, she'd start over.

* * *

  
That morning a man had been found just off the forest's edge. Torn and bloody. Barely alive. He was limp in their arms as they carried him through the woods, head bobbing, arms weaving. Mouth open, saying nothing.

The whispers throughout the caravan were accusing. They were afraid of disease, strange magick from the woods.

"Shapeshifter." "Devil Mage." "Death Bringer."

Medical supplies were few and far between with only enough for those accounted for within the encampment, and the healer looked upon the stranger's state with poor prospect as she held what little remained of a potion in her trembling hands.

"There should be a vote," the leader's second in command spoke amidst the crackling of the bonfire's flames, and was answered with silence as the travelers unsure faces acknowledged him, none brave enough to speak forth.

"There is no time -" the healer responded.

"So what we have left should be used on this stranger from the woods? What about the rest of us?"

A soft voice spoke just then from the perimeter, "I can help," and as he came closer he knelt to the stranger, produced a pouch of recent gatherings and said to the healer, "boil some water, please," and to the third in command, "Arvo, take my position on the rocks."

Yarrow leaves and flowers for the bleeding, infection. He ripped the fabric across the stranger's chest, placed the staunchweed hurriedly onto the area there as well as on the arms, stomach. Lavender for the swelling. "You know what to do with this," he said to the healer, handing her green walnut husks. And once all was done there was nothing left to do but wait.

"You are not far from death," he said to the suffering man, "but stay with me. There is hope for you now that you are here."  
  
There was no response, only ragged breaths, short and pained.

 

* * *

  
He'd only made it slightly past the abandoned cave that day. He placed a beacon and lit it with the blue flame so he could view his progress from the vantage point on the rocky peak. There were still so few littered across the landscape. 

Progress was limited due to limited means. Limited food, water, limited arrows. A sword needing sharpening. Rusted mail and weakened leather. 

The ambushes came frequently, the monsters further ahead stronger and more persistent. The last time he'd risked it he ended up with a clubbing to the head. Knocked him out. They had stolen everything on him but at least they had left him alive.

He was running out of ways to go - the Northwest now the only viable option, past the abandoned cave.. if only the caravan had had more supplies he could get a band of them together to pursue it, however convincing them to go with starving stomachs and wavering morale has been a struggle since they'd arrived.

He never quite knew when it had become his responsibility.

He was beginning to contemplate death. If the others would not step up they would all die. It was for certain.

*ADD MORE HERE*

* * *

  
The princess had come running toward him near the outskirts of their encampment as soon as she saw him. 

"The healer's bandaged his eyes," she said, "won't let anyone take a look at them."

"So he's opened them?" he asked. "Is the stranger recovering?"

"Still in a sorry state," she said.

And this was true. He pushed the fabric door of the tent open, entered inside its darkened warmth and observed the stranger shivering on the cot, left arm fallen off its side, twitching. In fact the eyes were covered just as the princess had said, and as he knelt beside the cot he peered at the man's face and regarded the healer without gazing away.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, hushed.

The healer sat at the other end of the large tent, bent over a large bubbling pot and with a tinge of anomosity replied, "It's none of your concern."

"You shouldn't have put me in charge of the caravan if you didn't want me asking questions. Not to mention I am the only one risking my life out there to gather the necessities to keep us alive. Including your herbs and remedies."

She sighed. Pot still bubbling. Fire crackling. "Don't like that he's here. Best to keep his eyes covered like that until he gets better and goes away. The rest of them see him with his eyes open and they'll panic."

A hand reached for his own, and like a secret it wove into his palm and around his fingers hidden. The stranger's fingers grasped tightly for only a moment until their strength dwindled and his arm fell flat against the cot once more.

Lifeless again. The hair across the stranger's forehead matted against sweat laden skin.

* * *

 

The crescent moon above the Painted Peaks glowed strangely for the next few nights.

It was with this streak of incandescent and consistent light that the Hero was once again able to venture further from camp. Past even the blue beacon. This opened itself up to a valley yet unexplored, closer even to the Painted Peaks themselves - a wide dip of landscape between the towering earth. Like the Goddesses had taken an enormous blade and carved out its center.

Here the sand was lavender brown and smooth and flat with no footsteps on its surface for miles. Its expanse unnerved him. The likelihood of shelter seemed to be an issue for as far as he eyes could survey, so he lit another beacon and turned back home.

There were no creatures going to the valley nor were there any coming back. He made a note in his journal to travel through the dangerous areas by the light of the crescent moon in the future.

The encampment was filled with whispers of a werewolf. He had arrived to find the stranger gone and the blame had been placed on the odd and gleaming moon.

"There are no such things," the Hero said with mirth. Irritation and hunger overwhelmed him, and he decided he was fed up with the stupidity of the small village. He slammed the large sack that he had hoisted over his shoulder to the ground, it landing with a dull thud to the moist earth. "Food," he said with little emotion and he swore he could see the men salivating. Perhaps it was the exhaustion.

The smoke rose from the fire as the food rotated above it, the men jubilant once again at the prospect of a warm meal.

The Princess watched the Hero as he stood at the forest's perimeter. She was thinking on whether or not she'd run after him once he'd gone in. She wouldn't last long on all the thorny branches with her bare feet.

"He didn't go that way," she told him from a distance.

He turned, acknowledged her.

"He'd gone to the Painted Peaks. The same direction you returned from earlier this evening."

"Why didn't you stop him?" he asked.

She shrugged, confused. "Because I didn't know I should have?"

"I.." he began with an obvious search thereafter for the right words, and he knew it wasn't her fault. Time hadn't been kind to either of them, after all. So he said, "It's alright Zelda," and he kissed her head and she smiled and she knew he wouldn't be back.

* * *

  
It was not your usual kind of desert, no. He found that it was not unbearably hot here, nor remarkably cold at night. The sand here not of a tannish color but of lavender that reflected off the strange shade of the Painted Peaks. It could very well be mistaken for not being sand, surely many have done so before, especially on the rare occasion of a triple crescent moon as of late with the pearly dim light beaming down upon the granules and the pinky purple of the sky contrasting against and it was beautiful and silky smooth.

It was beautiful except for the fact that the wind had caught a bunch of this white sand halfway past the midsection of the valley and had continuously hit the stranger across the face with it as he had journeyed through the desolate landscape for what had seemed like an eternity.

It had really been only two days but what was an eternity anyway if you aren't sure how long you have to live? He had thought about this as the sands crept onto his eyeballs through squinted lids, how the sands had entered his nose and how the sands had entered his mouth on occasion - even with the cowl he so diligently wore. It wasn't as practical as it looked when he'd have to lower it just to breathe as the fabric had become so dampened with his breath that it stuck to his lips and threatened to suffocate him.

He figured if he just kept walking he'd end up somewhere sooner or later. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but if it did happen to be later rather than sooner he would be fine with that as well. He was used to things not going his way - in fact, he had developed a certain type of patience for it.

He was just thankful to be away from that rotten camp with all those idiot Hylian townsfolk refugees. The only smart one had left and he'd be damned to stay with that healer who clearly wanted him to just get it over with and die already.

On the fourth day the last drop of water from the canteen dripped onto his tongue, and he sat down promptly in the lavender sand contemplating death. He sighed and closed his eyes as his hair whipped around his face and in a masochistic way he derived some sense of pleasure from his failure - another and potentially the last failure on a long list of so-called mistakes.

He imagined the insignificant day when light had come pooling into his vision.

It had been no different than the ones that had come before it, except for the fact that he had been brought into this world. And it was not a grand day, no spectacular occasion. The Goddesses did not descend from the heavens and bestow their powers onto him, the sky did not split into two when he had taken his first breath.

A Sheikah without a purpose. But.. he was still alive, so there was that.

He did not remember falling asleep (or passing out) there on the moonlit sand but luckily a wagon spotted a torso from a ways back and dug him out from the sand that had begun to bury him. His eyes had fluttered open to a canopy of red and purple and gold that covered the moving structure's open ceiling and the jingle jangle of bells and ornamentation as it swayed faded into his ears.

He did not know where it was taking him, but he surmised that it was of Gerudo origin which meant it was going to either one of two places; Shalah, a trading fortress of their ilk to the north or to Novanara (which would certainly be more ideal).

He quickly tore some mueslin from his sleeve and wrapped it around his eyes. Last thing he needed was the Gerudo recognizing the color of them and remembering the fact that the two (Gerudo and Sheikah) haven't been on the friendliest of terms for some time now. And that they particularly like to enslave Sheikah men as their playthings. He decided that if it were Shalah that he would jump out of the caravan and risk death. 

They dumped their 'blind' rescue off at a waypoint with several others they picked up along the way. The crescent moon's light dimmed as clouds gathered. He wasn't sure where he was but he couldn't risk removing the mueslin from his eyes if there were still Gerudo among them.

"Couldn't be worse," he heard a female voice say, Hylian. Probably.

"Where are we?" the stranger asked.

"What does it look like?" a Goron grumbled. 

"He's blind, stupid," said the Hylian.

"Great," said the Goron.

"I'm not deaf. I can hear your tone -"

"Then listen, sand dweller." The Goron pulled the stranger close. "You hear the whir-whir of machinery? You hear the shoowsh-pop of steam? You hear the clank-clank of metal to stone, over and over and over?"

"..Yes."

"If we all make a run for it now we can die from dehydration in less than a week," the Hylian suggested.

"We're not in Novanara.."

"NO," the Goron and the Hylian answered in unison.

They begun walking.

"At least they'll kill the blind one quickly and he won't have to endure the torture," the Hylian said after a while.

"I heard that -"

Maybe he would be graced with death.

* * *

  
It was easy to follow the fresh footprints in the sand of the valley.

The Hero put faith in the stranger's path and he ate the future with each step he took. At first the prints were decidedly straight and determined. As the hours went on he could see they had begun to waver. A sandstorm too had erased many of the prints which had left him guessing for some time.

A little this way. A little that way.

Soon wheel tracks and more prints. He had made great time. He was excited to start again in a new village. He hoped that the stranger had picked a nice place to escape to.  
  
  
  
  
**And it was like he had never been alive before this moment.  
Something about him that transcended lifetimes. One touch and he was born anew and they were running through the woods to freedom.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
